


a rhapsody for you and me

by harlequin87



Series: Australia 2016 [2]
Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: 3+1, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:04:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: What happened next.Or: three times Owen surprised George and one time George surprised Owen.





	a rhapsody for you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Symphony' by Clean Bandit ft. Zara Larsson.

**1\. August 2016**

Now they were back in England, Owen was worried about George. His best friend was now cleared to drive, do light exercise - hell, he could probably go skydiving in a few weeks, he'd progressed so much. But there was little Owen could do to bring a smile to George's face. Late one night, while George was snoring in the guest room, Owen opened his laptop. _How to make someone happy_ , he searched. The first few sites centred around food and alcohol, but George hated breaking his diet plan at the best of times, so that was definitely out.

He scrolled some more, blinking through eyes bleary with tiredness. Then, he found what he was looking for. _The presence of pets or another animals can improve wellbeing, particularly after an extended period of separation_ , the screen read. George wasn't technically isolated in London - past and present teammates were constantly coming and going, and the Fords had stayed for one week of the three since they had flown home. But maybe George needed something more - something Owen couldn't give him. The corners of his mouth tightened at the thought.

He closed the laptop and reached for his phone. Most of the way through a rambling text to JJ, he saw the time. Five minutes to midnight was not an appropriate time to be texting anyone (unless they were in different time zones, as Owen had found when discussing George's recovery with their parents). He turned off the phone and flopped into bed, resolving to do something about the situation in the morning.

At breakfast, he casually brought up the dogs with George. "So, uh, who's looking after Leo and Sky at the moment?"  
"Um, my neighbour was to start with, but now I think Guy's got them at his house." There was a pause. "Why?"  
Owen panicked. "Well, I was actually . . . thinking about getting a dog myself!" He groaned internally. _Idiot_ , he chastised himself. _Dig yourself out of this one, Farrell._ Luckily, George seemed more preoccupied with his breakfast than Owen's predicament. "The thing is, I was wondering how you coped during away games and tours and things like that." The other man nodded slowly and Owen found himself surprisingly grateful for his apathy.  
"I wouldn't mind having the dogs here, to be honest," George said, staring out of the window. "I'm starting to get a bit lonely."

Owen hummed in acknowledgement. "What are your plans for today, mate, anyway?" If the dogs were going to be brought over today, it would have to be while George was out.  
"I've got an MRI scan at two and a general checkup before that, so I'll leave at lunchtime and be back by four, probably."  
"Okay. I've got a sponsorship thing this afternoon, so I can make dinner if you want." George nodded and got up to wash his bowl. He left the room silently, and Owen sighed into the stillness. Everything was fine in Australia, but in England George seemed to be realising that the effects of the coma would last for more than a few weeks. He'd been pulling away from Owen, and he could count the number of times they'd touched in the last week on one hand. Hopefully, getting the dogs involved would help to fix things.

JJ seemed worryingly receptive of the plan. He agreed almost immediately and insisted on bringing Anthony to make the dogs feel 'more at home'. Owen wondered how often George's dogs got handed around the team like this, but he stopped himself. He couldn't criticise the culture of another team, and they were doing him a favour. _Friendship_ , he reminded himself wryly. They were doing it for George, and for him, and for their friendship. God knows they needed it. George had grabbed Owen's hand when the plane hit turbulence on the descent into Heathrow, but now he was pretending that the tentative steps towards romance had never happened. Owen grimaced and went to wash his dishes.

The Bath players and the dogs arrived five minutes after George left - apparently they had been ten minutes early but drove round the block for a quarter of an hour for the sake of secrecy. JJ and Anthony greeted Owen with their usual exuberance, but the dogs seemed reluctant to go near him. Owen's heart clenched. In all his plans, he had never considered this. If Leo and Sky didn't like him, George would probably hate him for uprooting them to a strange new place without his permission.

Anthony noticed his anxious expression and reached into his pocket. "I've got some treats if you need them, Faz. Sky didn't like me to start with, either."  
JJ snorted. "Bro, that's a lie! She _hated_ you. I remember when she hid in Fordy's room all day because you were in the garden! It was bloody hilarious." Anthony poured some treats into Owen's grateful hand.  
"Thanks for doing this too, guys." He crouched down and extended his hand to the cowering dogs. "I know it was short notice and all-"  
"Mate, chill!" Anthony scoffed. "It's the offseason - we don't have anything else to be doing."  
"Plus," JJ added, "we wanted to see our second-favourite fly half."

Owen's indignant reaction was muted by Leo coming forward and nuzzling a few treats from his hand. JJ flashed a thumbs-up at Owen's beaming grin, looking uncannily like a proud parent. They waited in silence for a few more minutes until Sky poked her head out from behind Anthony's legs and snuffled a biscuit too. The Bath players high-fived. "Did you bring their food and stuff with you?" Owen asked.

"Yeah - I think Guy's glad to be rid of it by now! I'll get it out of the car," JJ said, and left Owen and Anthony staring at the dogs.  
"The team's really happy that you're doing this for George," Anthony said into the silence. "A lot of the guys would have taken him, but we agreed you were the best option."  
"Uh, thanks?" Owen said, eyes fixed on the floor. "But we're not doing too well at the moment - he's so bored."  
"Go out a bit, then. Going to dinner won't kill him, you know." _Yes, but it might kill my dignity_ , Owen didn't reply.

Mercifully, JJ appeared at that moment with two boxes of dog food, bowls and toys. "Where do you want this?" he grunted.  
Owen laughed and pointed into the kitchen. "Over there's good - but, really, mate? I can see the headlines now: _Rugby Star Out of Breath After Climbing Stairs_."  
Anthony sniggered too and JJ slapped him. "Funny, Faz, wow. Anyway, do you want us to stay until George gets back, or should we go?"  
Owen scratched his head. "I - both of us - could do with the company, and it's probably a good idea for you to stay until we know George actually wants the dogs here."  
Anthony shrugged. "Like I said earlier, we have nothing to do until training camp - we can spare an afternoon."

After a few hours messing around with the TV and the dogs, there was the sound of a key in the door. The dogs' ears pricked up and they rushed towards the door, barking, before any of the men had a chance to stop them. "Owen, wha-" they heard George say, then a gasp. "Oh my God, you guys! Hello, hello, yes, I missed you too! Aww, hey, it's okay, I'm here." There was a long pause. "Owen? How the hell did you do this?" George rounded the corner, Sky in his arms and Leo at his heels, and groaned at the sight of JJ and Anthony sitting innocently on the sofa. "I should have known. Afternoon, lads."  
"Don't I get a kiss too?" JJ pouted. George rolled his eyes and quickly kissed his teammate on the cheek. Anthony protested until he got one too, but Owen kept still, his eyes averted.

George settled into the chair opposite with the dogs on his lap. "Thank you, guys, I don't know what to say. This is great."  
"Don't thank us," Anthony replied. "Thank Faz here - he's the one who asked us to bring them."  
George looked down at Leo's ears. "Thanks, Owen. I really appreciate it." His voice was quiet, and Owen could see that he was flushed with excitement at seeing his dogs again.

"How was the hospital?" he asked awkwardly.  
George paused before responding. "They say I'm pretty much back to full function - and that I need to see a therapist." He wrinkled his nose.  
"Hey, no," Owen said, kicking George's ankle. "I went to a therapist after my uncle - y'know, and it really helped. Plus, Eddie will be happy about it. Anything for the boss, yeah?"  
George locked eyes with him. "Mate, I can't think about rugby right now. I don't even know if I'll play any of next season yet. It'd be so risky, and the doctors said rushing back into contact could do even more damage." He turned to Anthony and JJ. "Don't tell anyone this, okay? It's all up in the air at the moment." They muttered their assurances and kept quiet.

Then Sky started pawing at George's chest, and he jolted out of his reverie. "Uh, Owen, is it okay if I take the dogs outside? I think Sky needs it."  
The other man nodded and got to his feet. "I'll show you the corner they can use in the garden." They walked outside, leaving the other players bickering cheerfully. "Georgie," Owen said, staring resolutely at the hedge, "I know you said that you didn't know what you wanted to do. I just wanted to say - you're welcome to stay here for as long as you need - as you want. And I will support you, whatever happens."  
"I was thinking about maybe doing a degree, if all else fails. You did your business one, and it's a good idea to have a backup plan. So I thought- maybe English? I can always give journalism a go when I retire."

"That's a great idea, Georgie, wow. Would you do it in Bath, or . . ?"  
"Um - I looked at some London universities, and my A-levels are good enough for most of them. So, if you were okay with it, I'd probably stay here for the first year and then start playing again while doing it part-time."  
Owen turned to his friend. "Were you listening to me earlier? I'd love to live with you!" He wrapped him up in a tight hug. "Anyway, your cooking is better than mine, and you have dogs, so . . ."  
George laughed into his ear. "Thanks, Owen. There's a still a lot of negotiations to do with Bath, but hopefully it'll work out."  
"I hope it does too, mate. This is going to be brilliant!"

**2\. December 2016**

George stared at his reflection in the car window, watching the street lights flash past. He was wearing his gameday suit - admittedly a little loose around the shoulders, but it was the smartest thing he had - and a put-upon expression on his face. There was a Hardy essay at home waiting to be written, but instead Owen had insisted that he dress up and come with him. They had been driving around for nearly an hour, and George was sure they had travelled less than five miles away from Owen's house.

Finally, Owen turned into a dark car park and pulled to a stop. "We're here!" he said brightly. "Come on, we don't want to be late." George got out of the car with some trepidation. Owen was already striding towards a building on the other side of the car park. George squinted into the darkness. Suddenly, it looked very familiar.

"Owen! What the hell!" he whisper-screamed. "I can't go to the _Saracens_ Christmas party at _Allianz Park_! My team will murder me, and yours won't let me in."  
"Shh," Owen grinned. "The lads know you're coming. And nobody cares who gets brought as a plus one - Jinxy brought his brother last year. You're with me, anyway. It'll be fine." George reluctantly let himself be dragged to the entrance of the players' rooms, but balked at the threshold. Owen ruffled his hair and pulled him into the warmth.

There was definitely a drop in volume when they walked in. George ducked his head under the weight of so many stares, but he was put out of his misery by Billy Vunipola bounding up to him and tugging him into a hug. "Fordy!" he said, pulling back. "Good to see you, mate - we all thought Faz was keeping you hostage at this point. You need to get out more!"  
Owen shoved him. "Hey, be nice. He's got homework and stuff that requires actual thought to do - unlike you."  
Billy spluttered. "Just because I choose not to doesn't mean I can't!" Mako dragged his brother away, still protesting loudly.

Owen led George over to the buffet. They were loading their plates with food when Owen asked lowly, "This is okay, right? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."  
George reached over to take a mince pie. "It's fine, mate. No, really, I'm glad you made me come. I have been a bit of a hermit lately." They sat down at a table with Alex Goode, the Vunipola contingent, Jamie and Jamie's girlfriend.  
"Evening, George," Alex said, standing up to hug him. "How're you doing?"  
George vacillated between the funny answer and the honest one. He owed Alex, he decided, for all that happened in Australia, so he opted for the truth. "Less bruised than usual at this time of year, but I've got so much work! I don't know how the kids balance uni and a job."  
Jamie's girlfriend, Katie, leaned over. "What are you studying? I'm in my final year of economics."  
"Oh, nothing as useful as that! Just English, with an emphasis this term on ecocriticism, which is _definitely_ not as interesting as it sounds."

As the evening drew on, George felt more and more relaxed. It was nice to socialise with people other than students and rugby players for once. By 9pm, he was in the middle of a heated debate with Alex, Jamie and Katie about the superiority of small dogs over big ones. Suddenly, a cheer went up. George twisted around in his seat. The South Africans - Schalk Brits, Schalk Burger, Michael Rhodes and Petrus du Plessis - had cleared a space in the centre of the room and were standing in a line wearing Santa hats. George tilted his head in confusion at Owen, who mouthed _wait and see_ from acrosss the room. Alex whispered in his ear, "This is always good. They do a different act each year, and this time, they're dancing."

Brits nodded at someone in the crowd, and _Jingle Bell Rock_ started playing over the speakers. Then, the South Africans began to perform what was unmistakeably the dance from _Mean Girls_. The crowd were howling with laughter. The sight of Brits strutting his stuff with a confident swagger contrasted hilariously with Burger's laser-focused expression. When the soundtrack inevitably stuttered to a halt, Rhodes picked up the tune and soon everyone was singing along. George looked around and smiled. It may not have been his team, but he felt firmly part of the Saracens family - even if it was only for one night.

When the song finished, the four men bowed to rapturous applause. Then they walked off to remove their costumes, and Brad Barritt took the floor. "Good evening, everyone. Tonight I'm going to be singing _Fairytale of New York_." There was a beat of stunned silence before his face cracked into a grin. "That was a joke!" Everyone laughed in relief. "I just wanted to say thanks to the Springboks-"  
"And Rhodey!" Brits shouted. "Don't forget his uncapped _esel_!"  
"The Springboks and Mike," Barritt amended, "for that performance. Also, thanks to all the staff who made this possible and all of you for coming. Faz asked me to include a special mention for - and I quote - 'the traitor in our midst', otherwise known as George Ford. Thanks for coming, mate, I know it can't have been easy with this bunch of morons." Goerge flushed as the whole room looked at him. "And now - let the dancing begin!"

Someone turned down the lights, lending the room a more club-like atmosphere, and Christmas music blared out of the speakers. George stayed seated while the others thronged to the dancefloor and picked at his sandwich. Someone sat down heavily next to him, and George smiled disarmingly at them. Then the man turned round and he recognised the sharklike grin of Chris Ashton. "Hi," he said stiffly, angling his body away from the other man. "How are you?"  
"I'm good, thanks, Ford. How are you, now you've gone and shacked up with our fly half? Getting all the inside information on the team, huh? It's probably easier to leech off him than actually earn your keep for once." George balled up a napkin in his fist. "Anyway, if Bath suddenly improve next season - not that that's likely - we'll all know why, won't we? Have a good night!" With that, Ashton stood up and merged into the crowd.

As _Wonderful Christmas Time_ played, George felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. He knew what some people thought about his living situation, but having it said directly to him was different. He sat there for a minute longer, before the tears threatened to overwhelm him and he had to leave the party. He stumbled down the unlit corridors of the clubhouse, careful not to go to far in case he actually got lost, and sat down heavily on the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest and thanked God for the darkness, in which nobody, not even Chris Ashton, could see him.

"George!" A voice echoed along the corridor. "George? It's Chris - Chris Wyles. Where are you? George?"  
"Here," he croaked, wiping away any stray tears. A phone flashlight rounded the corner and he blinked past the glare to the man carrying the light.  
"Hang on, let me turn the lights on," Wyles muttured, and flicked a few switches. He bent down and held out his hand. "Hey, bro. What're y'all doing down here, then?"  
George shrugged weakly and stood up. "Bit overwhelmed, I suppose. Parties have never been my thing."  
Wyles grinned wryly. "Same. That's why I'm out here looking for you, not in there. Is it okay if I call Faz? He's kind of freaking out." George waved a hand in acquiesence. Wyles turned away and tapped a few buttons. "I found him - yeah. Yeah. Yep. We're by the second physio room. Sure. Okay."

There was a sound of feet hurrying down the hallway. Owen rushed to them. "Thanks so much, Chris, Jesus. I feel like a piece of shit right now."  
The winger smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "No biggie. Enjoy your night, guys!" He walked away and Owen yanked George in for a hug.  
"Fuck, Georgie, I'm sorry. Are you alright? I didn't think about the noise, or the lights . . ."  
"It's okay," George mumbled into his chest. "I mean, it's not, but - Ashton, I guess."  
Owen's grip tightened. "Did he . . ? Of course he did. He's been saying stupid stuff to me for weeks now, about how much of a risk it is to live with you and how I'm letting the team down. What he doesn't understand, though, is that it's you. I trust you. And that scumbag's not going to change my mind." George exhaled. "I didn't think he'd say it to your face though. Some people have no concept of human decency."

"One thing I am annoyed about . . ." George said softly, looking up at Owen. "Why didn't you tell me Wyles was American? He bro-ed me and I almost laughed in his face!"  
Owen sniggered. "You should probably know that by now. He was Captain America at the last World Cup, y'know."  
He kept chuckling until George poked him in the side indignantly. "Can we go back now? Hannah told me earlier it would be time for slow dancing by now, and I want to piss off Ashton."  
Owen's mouth curved up into a smile. "Are you asking me to dance, Georgie?"  
"If you would do me the honour, Owen," George smiled back. "Now lead the way- or I'll get lost again."

They slipped back into the party almost unnoticed. George noticed Ashton nursing a beer at an empty table. _Karma_ , he thought smugly. Owen looked like he was about to start yelling at him, so George grabbed him by the hand and led him onto the dancefloor. The music had slowed, more suited to gentle swaying than anything else. Owen pulled George in close to him, hands on his waist. George tucked his head into Owen's chest and relaxed. A moment later, he tensed again.

"Owen, you spoilsport, turn round!" he hissed. "I want to see Ashton's reaction too!" They rotated slowly until they could both see the other man through a gap in the dancers. It mean they both had a clear view of the moment Ashton saw them. His eyes widened as his mouth dropped upon, making some of the beer dribble out onto his suit. He immediately grabbed a napkin and started dabbing himself furiously. "Rotate, rotate!" George commanded. "I can't laugh - it'll ruin it." Owen steered them to the other side of the room, blithely ignoring all the incredulous looks they were receiving.

George collapsed on a chair, giggling uncontrollably. "His face!" he gasped. "Oh my God, that was so funny!"  
Owen ruffled his hair fondly. "You have the best ideas, Georgie. I mean, we freaked him out and he spilt beer on himself."  
George frowned. "Yeah, but doesn't that change him from a regular idiot to a homophobic idiot? I'm pretty sure that's not funny, especially for you. He's on you team, for Christ's sake!"

Owen laid a steadying hand on his knee. "It doesn't matter right now, G. After all, Christmas isn't for the people you hate, it's for spending time with the people you love."  
George smiled and covered Owen's hand with his own. "The people you love," he echoed. "Sounds about right. Merry Christmas, Owen."

**3\. March 2017**

Owen had been planning this day for weeks - March 16th, George's birthday. He was going to get up early, make breakfast for both of them and bask in the warm glow of domesticity. Of course, the evening was more important in the grand scheme of things, but a good start was crucial. So, naturally, it went wrong immediately.

While he was opening Sky and Leo's dog food, he cut his hand on the tin lid. Blood started oozing and he swore. "Goddammit," he hissed, and ran to the sink before the whole kitchen was covered in spots of blood. Once the plaster had been applied and the dogs had been fed, he set about making scrambled eggs and toast, as per their diet plans. After a brief tussle with the eggshells, the eggs were ready.

But then Owen detected an acrid burning smell. He groaned. Of course, today was the day for the toaster to act up, and of course today was the only day in _three years_ when the fire alarm actually worked. He lunged for the off button, but not before the dogs had started barking their heads off. "Shut up!" he pleaded, but there was no stopping them.

Admitting defeat, he threw the burnt toast in the bin and put another four slices in to toast. The eggs were cold too, so they went in the microwave - more noise! Great! He made two cups of tea and set them on the table (practically the only part of the room untouched by the chaos). Shoving everything on two plates, he grabbed George's first present and headed upstairs.

He knocked on George's door. "Georgie? Can I come in? I've got breakfast." There was a grunt of assent. The room was still dark, so Owen put the tray on the end of the bed and opened the curtains. "Happy birthday, mate!"  
George sat up on his elbows. "Thanks, Owen. Did I hear you say breakfast?" Owen snickered and pushed the plate towards him. "Mmm," he murmured. "This is really good - oh! A present?"  
Owen smiled at George's genuine surprise. "It's not much, but . . ."  
"I'm sure it's cool, mate, don't worry," George said warmly. He tore off the wrapping. "Owen, wow . . . You shouldn't have." He turned the Bath jersey over in his hands. "Did the whole team sign this?"  
"Yep - I asked Francois what he thought and he basically did it for me!"  
"Well, thanks anyway." George leaned forward and hugged his friend.

They ate breakfast together in silence, save for the snuffling of the dogs. "So, um . . ." Owen started. "I checked both our schedules for tonight, and I finish at four, and your lecture ends at five . . . I was wondering . . . Well, erm - would you like to go out for dinner tonight?"  
George inched closer to Owen. "Do you mean . . ?"  
"Uh, yes, probably?"  
He moved closer still until their sides were pressed together. "So I can - do this?" He leaned in slowly, tilting his head, eyes shining.  
"Absolutely," Owen breathed into the space between them. Then he closed the gap and finally felt the press of George's mouth on his.

Breakfast immediately forgotten, George brought a tentative hand up to cup the back of Owen's neck. "How is this only the first time we've done this? I've been missing out."  
"Speak for yourself," Owen huffed. "I was doing this pretty well while you were in the ICU."  
George smiled into the kiss. "Touché. And if I didn't make it obvious, I'd love to have dinner with you. Will it be a suit occasion?"  
"Yep."  
"Awesome. Only the best for Owen Farrell's toyboy." Owen shuddered. "Aww, calm down. You love it really."  
Owen pulled back and locked eyes with George. "Yeah, I really kind of do."

The corners of George's eyes crinkled with his smile as he took Owen's hand. "I'm going to be thinking about this all day. My professors are going to be so annoyed because I won't be able to pay enough attention."  
"Oh, same. But will the lecturers make you do suicide sprints beceause you weren't concentrating? I don't think so." They laughed. "I'm glad you said yes. I've got a good feeling about this."  
"Me too."

**+1. July 2017**

_Well, that was a weird one,_ Owen thought as the final whistle blew. The penalty that morphed into a scrum, the cards . . . The other Lions were forming a subdued line to shake hands with the All Blacks, and Owen joined the back of the queue. Even Rory was quiet. Nobody knew what to make of it - a draw? All that pain and effort for nothing? It was frustrating.

They stood on the pitch in small clumps, talking, until the photographers decided on a joint picture. Owen was fully intending to squat down next to Jack and Anthony, but apparently that was too many Lions in a row and seemed antisocial. So he got up again and sat down by Beauden Barrett. "Good game," he said, extending his hand to shake.  
"Thanks, man," Barrett replied. "I'm kind of glad it's over, though - I need a break! And my girlfriend too - we haven't spoken for more than five minutes at a time in weeks."  
Owen nodded and hugged his knees. "At least you two are in the same country - I haven't seen my Georgie in nearly two months."  
Barrett knocked their shoulders together. "Not long now though. She must be a keeper if she'll wait that long, too."  
Owen sighed, eyes damp with more than rain. "Yeah. Georgie's a gem. I'm really lucky."

"Smile!" someone shouted, and a burst of light went off. Owen sat up straighter and gritted his teeth. When they all stood up, he grabbed Barrett and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. "Good series, mate," he murmured into the Kiwi's ear. "I'll see you around." They patted each other on the back and then Barrett was gone, swallowed by the growing crowd of players and their families. Owen's parents and his brother had been in New Zealand for the second Test, but they had flown back to England the previous Monday. He had nobody to look for, not like the rest of the guys.

Every so often, a cheer would go up as another man found his family. Owen turned away. The rain was falling more heavily now, and he would have laughed in any other circumstance. _Pathetic fallacy, babe,_ George chirped in his head. God, he missed him. Even daily phone calls weren't enough. George had said he would meet him at the airport. It would be hard to restrain himself in public, Owen knew, but being able to hold his boyfriend again, to see the smile on his face without the filter of a phone camera - that would be enough.

"Faz!" someone called. "Faz, mate!" He groaned. "Faz! Owen!" More voices took up the cry. "Faz!"  
He turned around, bristling. "Don't you see I don't -" The  retort died in his throat as he took a step forwards. "Oh my God," he said softly. "I knew I should have had that HIA."  
"Hey, idiot," George said, grinning from ear to ear. "How's it going?" Owen ran towards him - it was only ten metres, but he'd waited so long - and picked up his boyfriend in a crushing hug.

"Oh my God," he repeated, face buried in George's neck. The younger man ruffled his hair. "This isn't an airport, Georgie."  
George laughed. Owen felt like he could fly. "Of all things, that's what you say first? Come on, put me down. There are cameras." Owen let George stand up again, keeping an arm looped around his neck. As he stared into George's eyes, he noticed the whooping and clapping of his teammates and - oh _God_ \- more than a few of the All Blacks. Barrett caught his eye and winked. Owen smiled in spite of himself. George was here, and nothing else mattered.

"Baby, can we sit down?" George asked. "My flight got in three hours ago - I'm exhausted."  
Owen led him over to the presentation platform. "I did just play eighty minutes against the All Blacks, George. I'd quite like to sit down too!" They perched on the edge of the stage, George's head resting on Owen's shoulder.

"So, uh, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled you're here, but why? I was going to fly out tomorrow anyway."  
George shrugged. "I'd finished all my exams, I hated the sight of the gym and most of my classmates had gone home for the summer. And, you know me, I'm spontaneous."  
"Aw, the Harry to my Donna."  
George snorted. "Nerd. Anyway, I just - I missed you, and I couldn't wait any longer. I spoke to your mum and she thought it was a great idea."

Owen turned his head and kissed George on the cheek. Most of the cameras had gone, but they had to be careful. "Georgie, I really appreciate it. I'm impressed you lasted so long, all things considered. Rory honestly had to talk me out of flying back to England in the fourth week because I missed you so much."  
"Babe," George said, sounding choked up. "Don't worry - next time, I'll come with you and it'll be amazing."

The other players were beginning to walk off the pitch to the locker rooms. Owen pulled George to his feet and leaned in close. "We should go in. I really want to kiss you, but I know we agreed we weren't coming out yet." George flashed him a grateful smile and jogged towards the tunnel. "Cheat!" Owen yelled as he ran off.

"Hey, Faz," Rory said, bumping their heads together as they walked inside. "Happy that your boy's here?"  
Owen laughed. "Mate, you have no idea. It's the best."  
"That's great! I suppose you'll want me out of the hotel room tonight?" He wiggled his eyebrows and Owen gagged.  
"Never do that face again," he hissed. "You'll scare the children!"  
Rory smiled beatifically. "Seriously, though?"  
Owen blushed and looked at the floor. "If it wouldn't be too much of a hassle . . ."  
"Eh, it's fine. I'll go and stay with my wife or Tadgh or someone. You two deserve it."  
"Thanks, though."  
"No problem!" Rory walked away, whistling.

When Owen walked into the locker room, he started stripping for his shower, content now George was near. But something still felt off. He looked around, and the penny dropped. _Damn it_ , he thought. George was probably waiting outside with all the other players' families. Rationally, Owen knew that he wasn't allowed in, but that didn't stop him from going up to Sam and tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, Warbs, um . . . I just wanted to ask about George. Can he come in here? I know it's kind of stupid, but I miss him."  
Sam looked over at the wing, baffled. "George is over there, Faz."  
He flushed. "No, not George North - _my_ George. You know, Ford. My best friend."  
The captain still looked sceptical. Then Alun Wyn Jones leaned over and murmured in his ear, staring at Owen unblinkingly all the while. Sam smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't really say no, can I? And - if it hadn't been for last summer, he'd have been in here anyway."  
Owen grinned. "Thanks so much, skips."

He pulled on a hoodie and went out to look for George. He wasn't hard to find. He was holding court among what seemed like every England player's parents while they cooed and patted his head. "George!" Owen called.  
His boyfriend's head whipped round. "Yeah?"  
"Come into the locker room? Warbs said you could."  
George's face twisted bitterly. "I'd love to, Owen, but it's not my place. You should be with your team."  
"But you _are_ my team, Georgie, please." Owen wanted to cry with frustration. "Come on, the lads want to see you."  
"Sorry, Faz, but no. I won't intrude." Owen felt the nickname like a slap to the face.  
"Okay, _Fordy_ , I'll see you later."

He turned around and headed back into the locker room. Someone had plugged their phone into the speakers, and his head throbbed in time with the pounding beat. He had a shower and was drying his hair, a towel around his waist, when Rory came up to him. "Is George not coming in?" he asked softly.  
"No," Owen replied. "He doesn't think he deserves to be in here, and I couldn't persuade him, and then he called me Faz, and I know he knows that I don't like it, and, God, Rory, I messed up." The rush of words ended in a sob, and Rory immediately pulled him into a physio room off the main locker room.

"Shh, hey buddy, breathe," Rory said as he rubbed slow circles on Owen's back. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be."  
"You didn't see his face," Owen sniffed.  
"Yeah, but he also flew halfway round the world to see you. He loves you, Faz. This doesn't change anything."  
Owen kept crying. "But if he had issues with me playing for the Lions, he should have told me. And he didn't, so where does that leave us?"  
Rory sat down on the floor opposite him. "In exactly the same position as most couples. I'm guessing this is your first fight?" Owen nodded. "It's good to work through your problems together - your relationship will be stronger because of it."  
Owen rubbed at his eyes. "Rory, I'd say we had a good thing going. We dealt with his coma, remember?"  
"That's different, mate. This is you two winding each other up, mostly on purpose. You'll get through it."  
Owen hugged his friend. "Thanks, Rory. It's good to have an old man to get advice form!"  
Rory slapped him on the back and pulled him up. "Got to revive the fairytale romance somehow, mate. Now, get dressed and talk to him."

Owen didn't get an opportunity to speak to George privately until they were in the lift up to Owen's hotel room. "So, erm, George -" Owen started.  
George cut him off. "Not here. Just wait a few minutes, please?" Owen sighed but kept quiet.

When they got into the room - Rory was conspicuously absent - they sat at opposite ends of Owen's bed. "Rory said we need to talk about our feelings. I can go first, if you want?" George nodded, his eyes boring a hole in the opposite wall. "I missed you a lot, and I wanted you to be with me in the locker room. I wanted you to seet that I care about you and I'm serious about us. But then you were angry and I didn't know why, so I took out my confusion on you. It was wrong. I'm sorry." He looked up from his folded hands to see George's expression soften slightly.  
"I know it's no excuse, but I'd been awake for almost forty hours straight at that point and I would have snapped eventually. I saw you and everything was good again, like you were the piece I hadn't realised was missing from the puzzle." Owen shuffled up to him so they were sitting side by side. "Then you asked me to go into the Lions locker room. It was awful. In front of everyone's families I had to admit how frustrated I was about my injury and how inadequate I felt. It hurt a lot." George tentatively took Owen's hand. "This isn't how I wanted my romantic gesture to end up. I hope you can forgive me."

Owen kissed his boyfriend on the forehead. "Of course I can, George. I'm sorry I was so insensitive about it." He laid back and pulled George down with him. "So, uh, can we consider this argument finished? I've really missed you and I could do with a hug."  
George smiled as he rested a hand on Owen's shoulder. "Of course, baby. Are you sure your roommate isn't coming back tonight."  
"Yeah - he's staying with his wife."  
"So we're free to cuddle all night - great! God, I love you, Owen Farrell."  
"I love you too, George Ford."


End file.
